The Graveyard Debacle (drabble)
by Mordelle
Summary: Betelgeuse lies in wait to prank the unholy hell outta his wife, Lydia but finds her doing something very suspicious in a graveyard. When he finally understands the gravity of the situation, will Betelgeuse have the strength and fortitude to face the proverbial shit-storm ahead? (graveyard drabble prompt on tublr!)


It is safe to say that pranks are hardly ever any fun for the one being pranked. The argument could be made that this why they're so funny. The longer the victim of a prank is wound up over the jest, the more hilarious it is. Even more so when there are witnesses. The more the merrier. When the prankster is a poltergeist, however, there are hysterical pros as well as unfortunate cons. For example, there is nothing a ghost who has mastered the manipulation of physical matter can't accomplish. _However,_ it is almost impossible to take credit for any high jinks unless breathers can see or hear you. It is for this reason that Betelgeuse took to harassing Lydia's parents primarily.

Delia, although a bit trickier to startle than initially anticipated, would scream so incredibly loud and shrill that it was comparable to nails on a chalkboard. That grew old. Quick. The Maitlands were prone to retaliation- at least Barbra was- and the wicked ghoul knew better than to mess with that sandworm lovin' bitch. Adam's reactions were pedestrian, barely worth his time. Lydia, however, was a perfect target. Most of the time, he could hardly get a twitch out of her, which made those times that he _was_ able to scare the unholy hell out of her absolutely delicious.

Betelgeuse usually upped his game in October. The closer to Halloween, the dirtier his tricks became. Every year it became harder and harder to achieve success with his little stoic lover. This time of year inspired something strong and resilient in her, but that never stopped him from trying. Last year's _brilliant_ plan managed to draw some terrified screams from her. The evil bastard had feigned an exorcism, putting on a great show too. Fading from sight, mouthing silent pleas and professions of love as his poor dark-haired saint cried and sobbed from utter fear and grief. This earned him an entire month's banishment. Betelgeuse would _not_ be trying anything like that again. No, tonight he would stick to a practical plan and go for surprise rather than trauma factor.

Lydia had mentioned something about buying feminine products at the pharmacy and maybe taking some pictures on the way back. There was no way he would follow her to get her intimate unmentionables and she knew that. It was perfect. He knew he could catch her unawares on the way back home and he would bet his afterlife that she would go through the cemetery. And so, there is where Betelgeuse lied in wait; non-corporeal, sleazing around the graveyard with a perfect vantage point from his position in a bushy tree. It took a while, but his patience was rewarded when the sound of a bicycle on gravel ground its way through the dirt path she always took.

He knew he couldn't get too close or she would sense him so. He refrained from movement and kept his stare slightly askance on the off chance she might feel his gaze. Excitement bubbled within when he noticed her stop and dismount. The bike fell to the ground and Lydia crouched hurriedly to retrieve a plastic bag from the basket. Something was off.

For one thing, Betelgeuse knew she would never treat her delicate vintage so callously. She was always careful with it, treating it like a sentient being with feelings. It was also odd how frantically she tore the bag apart. Curiosity piqued, the ghost put his plans aside in order to see what had his demure lover in such a state. When Lydia finally stood, she had a small box in one hand and what appeared to be a folded up piece of paper in the other.

 _What are you up to, babe,_ the creeper wondered, unable to discern too much from where he was hiding. In seconds, Lydia was unfolding the paper until it completely obscured her face. That was a _big_ instruction manual for something that came in such a tiny box. The plot thickened when his lover dropped the paper to the ground, revealing her worried face and heaving shoulders. Betelgeuse swore to himself when she disappeared into the woods with the evidence, leaving him to sit and wait for her return.

Only a few minutes before Lydia emerged from the thicket, anxiously approaching a tall gravestone. She dropped the paper and the box to the ground, very gently laid a small white stick on the head of the stone, and checked her watch. She started to pace in front the grave with her arms crossed over her midsection, muttering under her breath, but it was not until she sobbed aloud that everything finally clicked for the Ghost with the Most.

 _Holy fuckin' shit_ , he thought as his eyes widened in surprise. _Is she… pregnant?!_ His mind raced with other excuses and possibilities but always returned to the same obvious conclusion. Lydia thought she might be pregnant. That _thing_ lying so innocently on the gravestone was a goddamn pregnancy test! It was impossible to decipher which intense feeling came first for the poltergeist. At one point he had settled on something close to adoration for the woman until he realized very suddenly and horrifically that he… could _not_ be the father.

It was not often that Betelgeuse experienced anything close to feeling sick, but in this moment, he had the distinctive urge to vomit as his dead heart plummeted into his gut.

 _No,_ he reeled, _no, she couldn't… would never…_ A familiar sensation started to crawl up his spine and into his muddled brain. Rage. A snake of jealousy slithered through his mind in the form of visions of his beautiful, innocent soulmate in the arms of another. Blinding hatred began to boil his long-drained blood when he imagined her face touched with pleasure as she writhed beneath another man. _A man_. A mortal, living, breathing, man. That thought, which should have only fueled his fury, diminished it into utter despair.

This is where he would always fail. This is where he was lacking. The subject of his inability to procreate was a topic which he always expertly avoided when she tried to bring it up in the past. Now the colossal problem was biting him in the ass in the shittiest, most epic way possible. How could he blame her for betraying him? She had been so young when he had attached himself to her, his greed and ego stealing away any kind of normalcy from her promising life. Still, this truth did nothing to quell his aching _fucking_ heart. He wanted to cry, rip into his chest, throw himself at her feet and demand to know why she had done this to him. Why she couldn't have just told him she'd grown bored of him, didn't love him anymore, wanted to _live_ her _life_.

 _Unless_ , he thought with a sliver of hope, _she was just experimentin'._

That was something he could understand. He would still be incredibly pissed and feel a pressing need to extract some form of revenge _but_... a young woman, hormonal, wanting to experiment before making her final choice? Hell, he had experimented plenty when he was alive and even more so when he was dead! Who was he to deny that to her, the woman he loved more than anything on any plane of existence? So long as she chose him in the end. He had been around long enough to know that she was the only one for him. All he needed to do was convince her that he was the only one for her! It would _not_ take him six hundred years to do that. Oh, no sir! All he needed to do was up his ante and decimate the breather that dared touch what was undoubtedly his. But first… first, Betelgeuse needed to know what in the _flying_ fuck that test was going to read.

If ghosts could sweat, he would have been soaking through his clothes. Still frozen up in the tree, Betelgeuse waited on unnecessarily bated breath while Lydia checked her watch for the zillionth time, nearly exhumating the unfortunate corpse beneath her incessant pacing. How long had it been? A minute? Ten seconds? An eternity? _Jesus fuckin' Christ on crutches! How long do these fuckin' things take?!_

Finally, Lydia launched herself at the test and hovered over it. Rooted to the ground, wide-eyed with flared nostrils, she let out a breath and squeaked…

"Oh no."

 _Oh no,_ his inner voice mimicked. _Oh god, no._

"What the fuck," she breathed, barely a whisper. "Oh my god. What the fuck?!" She yelled, frenzy taking over.

"YEAH, WHAT THE FUCK?!" Betelgeuse bellowed back, no longer able to keep his composure.

Upon sighting him, Lydia whitened to a ghostly shade that he didn't know she was capable of producing. He dropped from the tree and physically charged right for her, not bothering with manifestation. Instinctively, the adulteress backpedaled and cowered before him as he lunged for the damning white stick. Lydia brought her hands behind her back, denying him access to the answer he needed to see with his own eyes.

"GIVE THAT FUCKIN' THING OVER _RIGHT-THE-FUCK_ NOW, LYDIA or I- _swear_ -on-ma-own-goddamn GRAVE IN WALES! IMMA FIND THE PRICK WHO KNOCKED YOU UP, and make sure he ends up in that forsaken waitin' room WITH HIS OWN COCK DOWN HIS THROAT!"

A small sob escaped her as she collapsed at his feet. The pregnancy test was offered up with trembling hands. He ripped it out of her grasp and brought it close to his face, eyes hungry and full of wrath only to find black letters scribbled across it in dark permanent marker…

 **GOTCHA**

Frigid and expressionless, he stared unblinkingly at the offending piece of plastic. How long he stood there was a mystery but when he finally heard a _click_ and a _puff_ , his eyes slowly met his wife's. Lydia was leaning casually against the gravestone, smoking a cigarette, face blank, giving nothing away. For a long moment they stared at one another, both unspeaking. Then, she stubbed out the cherry without once breaking eye contact and, very suavely, picked up her bike and walked away. When she reached the threshold of the cemetery gates, she gazed over her shoulder, right at him. The slightest of smirks twitched at the corner of her evil little mouth before she mounted her bike and pedaled away.

The comical, dumbfounded look etched into his features morphed into relief before settling onto one of pure awe. They were definitely made for each other. Of that, Betelgeuse was certain.


End file.
